A/N: Do you know how hard it is to wait to post a chapter once you finish writing it? We're just on the honor system here - I have no self-control when it comes to posting, so please leave some reviews so I know I'm not scaring people off...that would be the worst.

Warning – drug use and sexual situations in this chapter.

Sorry I am inconsistent with my warnings. I will try to go back and get my stuff updated soon.

Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info.

M

Over the next week, Angel, Iggy and I catch up completely, scouring every last document sent by the FBI so far and sorting it accordingly to my system. It is partly thanks to my own sleepless nights dedicated to organizing and structuring our search, and partly thanks to the fact that the longer this room is an evidence locker, the longer the three of us will climb the walls of this house. We are motivated and we are anxious.

It was only a matter of time. I'd caught both Angel and Iggy up during my sleepless roaming this past week. Neither would outright blame the case for their insomnia, but they didn't even need to. I knew. Reading these vile, despicable things.

Things that happened to us.

It would keep any sane person awake at night. To be honest, I am glad that I'm not alone in it.

By Friday, we're all wound tight and pent up with useless energy. We'd logged the rest of the second batch Alana sent the weekend before, scoured and signed the final contract from Carter, and now all we can do is wait for more.

Basically twiddling our thumbs, Iggy and I sit at the table while the kids are at school. We both have our own computers out—he has one earphone in, half-listening to a lecture from his online class and half-feeling his way through a puzzle cube, touching the colored squares in sequence and making moves accordingly. If you ever want to feel inadequate, watch Iggy use his synesthesia to solve a Rubik's cube.

I'm supposed to be researching for a final paper in my ethics class. A case study. Huh.

My entire life could be an ethics case study.

Ironically, I can't be convinced I've found any worthy material to build one of this assignment. I refuse to do one on my own case, no thank you, and I can barely drag my mind away from my own case to focus on anything else.

I look through the instructions of the assignment once more and then sigh, reaching for my water and looking out into the yard.

"What if Jeb planned for this?" I say, breaking the easy silence we've held for an hour or so.

Iggy rolls his eyes, unsurprised or unimpressed with this question. "He planned to get arrested?"

"Right. He gets arrested, we find the evidence. Some true, some meant to mislead us. We let our guard down. We've been safe for years and we know he's locked up. We get comfortable."

I swallow. We split up. We dive into this case and get distracted.

Iggy has stopped with the cube. I know he's probably considered this; he's the one who put the idea in my head in the first place. First, when he asked me how we knew we weren't being hunted. Then, again, when he asked me if I believed Jeb's notes. I can't imagine Jeb writing misleading notes unless the goal was to have us find them.

How much deeper does this plan of his go?

"Just, assume that's the case," I implore impatiently, once he still hasn't responded. He shrugs, agreeing.

"Okay, so?"

"So, what's his next move?"

Iggy's eyebrows knit together, and he doesn't respond. He fumbles with the cube again, this time aimlessly, a thoughtful look on his face.

I'd rolled this question over and over in my mind all week. I have no idea what Jeb could possibly have in his arsenal, considering how extensive his planning for us was. He was involved, dedicated, and psychotically focused on this plan of his. And, if we'd learned anything, we know he's connected. If this is really the victory we think it is…wouldn't it feel like it?

"Erasers?" Iggy finally offers, sounding unsure.

"Doubtful." In our last few years of hunting the School before we settled down, we'd shut down multiple locations with ties to the School or Jeb—most of them utilizing robotic fighters, like updated Flyboys, rather than Erasers. From what we'd glommed from the papers in the lab in L.A., Erasers were flawed with very short, painful lifespans. Most had eventually been programmed with expiration dates, to avoid long and excruciating deaths as their DNA literally deteriorated.

Rough stuff.

No, if anything I could imagine robotic arms guards coming for us. That had been what we'd found at that last lab. Fighting our way out of there was hard only because we'd never been up against this kind of enemy before. They just looked like cyborg people on steroids. They could still talk and communicate, intelligent and much more mature than the Erasers had been. Grown men. Mean.

Now, my Flock is quick and we fight dirty when we need to. We regularly exercise, even still, but hand-to-hand combat with a half-robot muscle man is not a walk in the park. And it has been a while since any of us brushed up on our combat skills.

I look up abruptly, shutting my computer. "Wanna take a break?"

Iggy pauses his lecture before I'm done asking. "God, please."

He scoops up his fabric zipper bag from the table where he'd tossed it this morning and heads toward the back doors. I silently follow him, tugging on my coat, still considering. I'd seen last weekend that at least Nudge was maintaining a certain level of awareness, even when also very actively living her personal life. She'd noticed me spying on her from the roof during her late-night soiree in Dean's car. But how ready are we, in general, to have our reality flipped at any moment?

I've been brushing off this feeling for too long, telling myself to calm down and to get comfortable. To rid myself of my PTSD and move on with my life. But the closer we get to understanding Jeb's crazy, the stronger this feeling is. Wait for the mess to start. Wait for the end to begin.

Iggy is sitting at the patio table when I get outside. He leans back, rolling slowly, deftly touching the papers with his fingers. In a rather sudden split-decision I decide to test him, coming up behind him and putting him in a firm chokehold. He makes a cartoonish gagging sound and his arms fly up to pull at mine. He starts gently, but when he realizes I'm not playing he starts digging his short nails into my arm through my coat. He's sitting, so that makes his situation more difficult. I push down, using my weight to keep him in the chair.

"What the fuck?" Iggy chokes out.

"What do you do?" I have him, he knows it. He's vulnerable in this position, my arm tight around his neck and my form towering over him. I sigh, not letting up yet, squinting out across the yard. He starts trying to bend my pinky in the wrong direction, but I squeeze even more around his neck and find him gulping for air. "This is what I mean. Have we let our guard down? I—"

He twists his head slightly, wheezing a bit because of my grip. He opens his mouth and bites down on my arm hard, somehow getting under the sleeve of my coat. I drop it immediately, yelping in momentary agony.

"Are you insane?" he accuses, shaking it off and going back to his activities as if I am nothing more than a nuisance. "Please don't kill me, man, I really don't want to go out that way."

I smack his shoulder.

"We're soft!"

"We are not soft," Iggy says with annoyance. "Want to fight? Let me finish this and then I'll show you I can still kick your ass."

I huff and sit next to him, crossing my arms and leaning back. I mutter, "You never could kick my ass."

He ignores me, lighting his smoke deftly.

"Why now?" Iggy prompts after a few moments of recovery. "Even if Jeb planned for this…why did we get five years of quiet?"

"Maybe when we came out of hiding, came out in the eye of the public…maybe it messed with his plan." I shrug. "We protected ourselves that way. That's what I've always thought. Or, maybe he was getting ready for whatever this is."

Iggy taps the table with his lighter, pointing at me. "Or," he suggests airily, "he realized he couldn't get us, realized we had left the School in ashes—realized if the authorities ever saw his face again, he'd go to jail forever. So, he hid at the house." He shrugs, taking another pull before finishing, "And he got caught."

I let a beat pass. He exhales. I say, "Then, the evidence is all true."

His eyebrows pull together. Finally, Iggy ashes his joint and puts his things away, leaning over toward me. "There is a lot of stuff in there I wish wasn't," he says quietly. He drops his fingers to my knee, and I reach down to take his hand. He squeezes it. "A lot I just…can't believe, yet. A lot more of it still makes no sense. We can't judge the whole picture if we only see a fifth of it."

I mull that over for a moment, not convinced.

"And…Jeb was crazy."

I snort a laugh. Iggy shrugs, like, Well, he is. I say, "Okay. So, what if Jeb didn't plan this exactly, but he put a plan in place if he ever got caught," I say, nudging him with my foot under the table. He drops my hand and leans back in his seat. "What then?"

"Then, anyone's guess what's coming next," Iggy says back. "Seriously. All we can do is what we've been doing. Stay alert, stay alarmed," he waves his hand back at the house, gesturing to the security system, "and wait."

My pocket starts to vibrate. I pull out my phone, noticing that it's well past noon before seeing Fang's number flashing on my screen. I accept the call, putting him on speaker, leaning forward on the patio table.

"Hey," I say. "Happy Friday."

"Even happier," he says, his voice clear and comforting. We'd talked almost every day this week, but it still sent a tingle through me to hear his voice, albeit through the telephone. "I'm heading home early."

I glance at Iggy, smiling brightly. "That's awesome. Are you coming now?"

"Just left," he says. I hear him shuffling with the phone a moment. "I should be able to be there before the kids are home."

I feel like my grin is splitting my face in half. "I can't wait to see you."

"Me neither," Iggy adds over my shoulder in a dreamy adaptation of what he thinks I sound like.

"Me neither," Fang says, either not hearing or ignoring Iggy's antics. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," I say distractedly, trying not to dwell on all the things I can't tell him. He often reminds me that I can't tell him details of the case, but I can always talk to him about my feelings and fears. He's checked in with me regularly each night, sitting on the phone listening to me ramble and worry aloud. I've avoided slipping up and revealing any information with relative ease, since the biggest cause of my stress recently is an internal sense of danger. "I'll be better when we're all together."

"I know," he says. "With any luck, I'll be there before 1:30. Maybe Iggy can take a lap and give us some privacy."

Iggy scoffs, still sitting within hearing range. He grabs his bag and stands up, heading toward the door. "Nice to know, I'm just in the way." He makes a show of throwing the door open for me and calls, "You're on speaker, if you didn't know!"

"Iggy's hurt," I report to Fang jokingly.

"He'll be alright. I'll see you soon."

"Okay, I can't wait. Be careful."

I hang up, heading inside to join Iggy. Reflexively, I check the security system before joining him once again at the table. He's back to his lecture and his puzzle cube, head tilting toward me as I reenter the house.

"Max?"

"Yeah?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't see any way getting caught fits into Jeb's plan."

It does, and it doesn't…but I don't say that. I just say thanks, patting his shoulder as I move around him. I sink into my seat, again attempting to focus on my schoolwork.


I'll never admit it out loud, but the moment I see Fang's figure in the sky, nearing our yard, the clouds in the sky seemed to disappear. An energy I haven't known in days fills me suddenly. I close my laptop, leaving my poorly structured case study for another time and moving toward the window to watch him land.

"He's here," I call over my shoulder to Iggy, who has been preparing lunch for the last twenty minutes.

"Keep it in your pants," Iggy retorts jokingly, turning off the stovetop. "Lunch is almost done. Either Fang has impeccable timing, or I do."

"…How long do we have?"

He scowls in my direction. "Max, seriously?"

It hurts how much I can hear his judgment. I jump from foot to foot, my eyes watching as Fang lands, jogging, pushing his wings out and curling them in tightly as he comes to a stop. I gulp.

"Don't ruin this for me," I grumble, and it must work, because instead of becoming cruel or hurt, he softens.

"I'll keep it warm. Don't keep me waiting forever."

"You're the best."

He rolls his eyes, probably just thankful I'm not kicking him out of the house. I'll take it.

"Make it a quickie," he remarks as I open the door.

I throw myself out, welcoming Fang as he comes up the steps. "Hi," I greet him, grinning.

He sweeps me toward him, dropping his pack and smacking a generous kiss on my mouth. It's like he picks up all my pieces and puts me back together in that moment. Could it really be this easy?

"The kids are going to be ecstatic," I say, running my hands down his arms and back up, checking him over like a worried mom. "They thought you wouldn't be here until dark."

Fang grins, moving toward the door.

I pull him the opposite direction earnestly, stumbling over my words excitedly. "Hurry, we don't have a lot of time."

He groans, seeing that I'm pulling him right back towards where he came—into the air. I tug at him insistently, throwing my wings open.

"I'm so glad to see you," I say, squeezing his hand and dropping it. "Follow me."

I leave him there, sprinting across the yard before throwing myself into the air, taking off toward our favorite place. I race there, landing hastily. I find myself waiting for him for a moment, taking in the gorgeous fall evening around us.

When he lands, I engulf him in a hug. I feel him pull his wings in against his back. His feathers lie over my hands, holding his shoulder blades for dear life as I stretch up to kiss him.

His wiry arms come around my waist, lifting me up onto the rock behind me. When I don't let him come up for air, he murmurs against my lips, "I was not expecting this."

I stop abruptly, pulling my hands away to rest them on the rock I was sitting on. He stands between my legs, hands ghosting over my jean-clad thighs. I don't say anything, so he says, "Not that I don't want it." He leans in toward me, hands sliding down my waist and scooting me closer to the edge of the rock—and him.

"I missed you," he says, pushing my hair out of my face. I beam at him, fingers tentative on his sides.

"I missed you. But, we can wait," I say reluctantly. "Iggy has lunch almost ready. I just…"

He grins down at me, tilting my chin up to kiss me again. "Okay. I get it. You just can't control yourself."

I glower at him, pinching his sides where my fingers were playing with his shirt. He grins wider, tugging on my beltloops. I drop my scowl and grin at him, pulling at him in return. He chuckles quietly.

"How are you?" he asks, genuinely asking. "Anything new I should know about?"

My mind fills with a thousand new discoveries and theories I am dying to share with him. Each one on the tip of my tongue before I realize its off limits. Frantic, not good at this at all, I pull him toward me again, catching his mouth in a desperate kiss.

He pulls away, looking at me puzzled. I blush.

"Sorry. This is just…easier." I motion between us.

He looks sincerely hurt by that, taking it the worst way possible. I roll my eyes, because he must know he's so much more than that—but he sees my eyeroll and seems to get more frustrated.

"There's just…so much I want to tell you that I can't!" I exclaim, tugging him as he tries to put space between us.

His face shows his realization, and he settles, but doesn't touch me again, yet. I wrack my brain for something normal to tell him.

"I'm writing an ethics paper for class," I say in a rush. "Nudge is dating a guy named Dean, who, apparently, makes her feel alive and likes to bring her back around three AM. Gazzy booby-trapped the downstairs bathroom on Wednesday, and I nearly knocked myself out on the toilet seat." Fang's eyes widen at the last one, his fingers creeping back to dance on my knee. "He and Iggy got into this…contest. About booby traps. After discussing old school security and defense mechanisms. It got out of hand quickly. Iggy said no one would ever fall for a trip wire."

Fang barks out a laugh, then quiets at the look on my face.

"Trust me, it was a whole thing. Now tell me about you."

He gives me a knowing look and says, "Work is good. I enjoy it and my coworkers are nice. Apartment sucks. I barely sleep there."

I sigh. "I barely sleep here."

He cups my face with both hands. I turn to press my lips to one of his palms, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

"Sorry," I murmur against his hand.

He shakes his head, lowering to closer the gap between us. He seems content with our quick chat, because he is earnestly back to the original task at hand. He slides his hands up my shirt, cupping me. His fingers are freezing and I squeak against his lips. I wrestle with his belt, ignoring anything besides the euphoric feeling of kissing him and having his hands on me.

When I finally get his jeans out of the way he's already unzipping mine. I lift my bottom from the rock, and he yanks my pants down roughly to my ankles. I pull him between my knees, kissing where his neck and shoulder meet. I reach down to touch him through his shorts and he groans, but it's not a good one.

"What?" I ask, recoiling slightly.

"I don't have a condom. They're in my room."

I pale, realizing simultaneously that that isn't really a problem for me apparently…and that I can't possibly tell him that right now. I grip his forearms, keeping him close to me, letting my lips brush his shoulder as I think. I don't respond immediately, and because of that he looks at me with interest.

"What? You have one?"

I shake my head, laughing a little. "No, I just…I don't know, what if we don't even need them?"

His eyes widen. Ever since we'd started sleeping together, he and I had been equally adamant about being safe every time. We'd never had our reproductive systems explained, so we never even knew if a pregnancy was possible. Much of it is up for debate. But neither of us had ever wanted to risk it. I know he is just as opposed as I am to the idea of having to tell the kids they're in store for a new Flock member.

Ugh.

"I know, I'm crazy, forget I said anything," I say quickly. I look at him, frowning slightly. "Not one in your wallet?"

He continues to stare at me, picking up on more than I give him credit for. He knows this is such an out of character opinion, coming from me. I open my mouth to divert, but he says softly, "What did you find out?"

I pause, trying out a bunch of different responses in my head. "I…I don't really know."

"What is it?"

I shake my head. "We made a deal. You said—"

He scoffs, looking conflicted. He reaches for me, hands dragging down my arms, fingers lacing with mine.

"We've never known for sure," Fang says. "Did you find something? We can't have kids?"

I shake my head fervently now, squeezing his fingers. "Fang, stop."

He looks into my eyes. There, he seems to realize he is tearing me in two. Simultaneously asking for information while having me sworn to discretion. Digging into a subject that has tortured me since I discovered it. Pressing against me with his body, distracting as all get out.

He leans his forehead against mine.

"Whatever it is, it's okay."

Wow. I did not realize I needed to hear that, apparently, until the words came out of his mouth. There's no stopping me, then. It overflows in me—all I want to tell him, all I want to ask him, it will pour out of me if I don't stop it.

I pull his lips to mine, resuming my previous handy work, pushing down his shorts.

He realizes what this means. It's not lost on me the way his jaw tightens behind our kiss, or how his hands grip my waist with renewed urgency. Am I crazy? Maybe. I feel completely unhinged, like my body is a brand new one I've never known before. I move against him, barely suppressing my vocal responses since we're so alone.

He hoists me up against him. I wrap my legs around him, feeling him press right against me. His lips fall to my shoulder and he murmurs my name, so soft. "Max."

I run my fingers through his hair once, resting them on his neck. "We don't have to."

He turns his head, plants a kiss on my sternum, and nonverbally disagrees with my statement by pressing forward just slightly. I groan, wiggling down against him. His response is like nothing I've ever seen—we've never done this before.

Nothing between us.

He's still waiting, frozen; I suppose he's waiting for me to tell him if he should stop.

I could just tell him about my procedure. Or is that cruel timing?

I don't even know the whole story yet.

But what else could there possibly be?

I feel my eyes watering and curse myself repeatedly in my head. It does not go unnoticed by Fang.

"Don't worry," I say eventually, swallowing. I mean it as a blanket statement. Don't worry about the condom. Don't worry about me. His eyes lock with mine, his thumb brushing my cheek, but he doesn't say anything.

"Can I just have you, please?" I whisper it, because it almost feels unfair to ask at this point. I'm clearly a wreck, and also asking him to forego protection.

He engulfs me in seconds, though. I murmur softly in his ear a rather…popular, if not faulty, alternative birth control method. He groans deeply, kissing all over whatever skin he can. My suggestion is all he needs, and in the next few seconds I let my mind focus only on Fang and the way we move. I wonder if he knows how much I need him.

He surrounds us with his wings, casting us in a dark shadow. His soft feathers brush my skin. He's everywhere, it's perfect, I could die.

I breathe him in…and let everything else fade away.


When we arrive back home, Iggy is sitting at the table, again listening to his lecture. He's halfway through a burger. A glob of barbeque sauce has dropped onto his sweats.

When we close the door, Iggy takes a deep breath and says, "God, I knew Max just needed to get laid and she would chill. I can finally fucking breathe around you."

I glare at him, which is wasted. Fang knows nothing about Iggy's strange, sensational empathy, and I do not want to start breaking rules.

"You have sauce on your pants," I retort at him.

"Me, or Fang? By the way, that was quicker than I expected," Iggy teases. I blush heatedly, avoiding Fang's hot and heavy gaze, remembering vividly every single detail of what we just did. I am so thankful the mind reader isn't home. I make a beeline for the food, struggling to keep my emotions in check.

"Smells good, Ig," Fang says, tapping his shoulder. Iggy raises his hand in a fist and Fang drops his fist down on his, following me toward the kitchen.

"Damn right," Iggy agrees. "So, how's bachelor life been treating you?"

Fang smirks up at me, loading up his plate. "Amazing."

I continue to blush against my will, thankful the only unknowing witness is Iggy. I make a plate of food and carry it back to my computer. "Kids will be home soon," I say, settling in my chair and pulling my phone out, plugging it into my computer to charge. "Nudge gets out at two."

I'm about to start in on my lunch when I see my phone light up with a notification. Voicemail.

I swallow thickly, my mood steadily being ruined more and more by the minute. I look up. Iggy seems to be listening to his lecture, clocked out and chewing while tapping rhythmically on the table. Fang is filling a glass with tea at the counter in the kitchen.

I stand without a word and head down the hall, easing into the bathroom to avoid any accusation from either of them about what I'm doing.

I close the door and click the play button on the message, raising it to my ear.

"Max—Alana. You can save this number, it's my secure personal line. We just got clearance for more detectives on the case, so you are about to receive multiple batches of information. Probably send it within the next hour." She pauses, a heavy one. "We can meet again, if you need another computer. Also…we found what you were looking for. It's in there, with the new files." She pauses again, and this time I hear the whoosh of her sigh into the phone. "Max, let me know if you need…anything. I'd much rather be showing you evidence this sensitive in a controlled environment, but just...promise you'll let me know how you're doing. We'll talk soon."

I lower my phone, feeling every inch of my body with full awareness. I feel empty and heavy all at once. It's like my body is ignited with adrenaline. It takes all my physical and mental effort to compose myself. There's no way we're doing anything case related until later—the kids are going to be so excited to see Fang, and I cannot ruin this for any of them by dragging Angel and Iggy into the office for the night.

I pull in another heavy, aggravated breath and flush the toilet. I turn to flick on the tap, staring at myself in the mirror.

We found what you were looking for.

I wonder if she really did. I wonder if she found what I hope to see—that is, any proof that Jeb's note is misleading or wrong.

Then there's the other thing she said. Evidence this sensitive.

I wonder if I even want to know.